


The Fear of Nightmares

by travels_in_time



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travels_in_time/pseuds/travels_in_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene Hunt logic: Sam has nightmares. This hurts Sam's usefulness to the team. This means that Sam's nightmares are Gene's problem to solve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fear of Nightmares

Gene had ignored the dark circles under Sam's eyes, the slower answers, the decreasing tendency to argue. Sam's paperwork not getting finished by the time he left every night did give him pause, but when Sam fell asleep during a stakeout Gene couldn't deny that there was a problem. Two senior officers dozing in the car was one too many.

Over Sam's protests--not nearly as loud or as violent as they should have been, Gene noted--Gene pried him loose from his desk, hauled him down to the pub, and made sure enough alcohol got into him to give him a good night's rest. Then he clapped him on the back and sent him stumbling home, secure in the knowledge that he'd done his part in looking after this particularly troublesome member of his team.

Of course Sam never was that easy, had never been able to take anything gracefully. He looked just as rotten the next morning and was shooting Gene deadly glares on top of it, as if it were his fault that Sam had all the tolerance for liquor of a maiden-aunt Sunday-School teacher.

Gene gave him a couple more days. The first day Sam went missing for half an hour; Chris finally found him leaning against a shelf in the archives, staring blankly at a cardboard box. The second day he absent-mindedly congratulated Ray for a job well done, at which point Gene hauled him forcibly up from his desk by his collar and marched him out, leaving Ray staring suspiciously after them.

************************

"I'm fine," Sam insisted. He poked cautiously at the newspaper-wrapped bundle that Gene had thrust at him. "Is there actual food in here, or have they finally managed to just package the grease?"

"You're a walking disaster." Gene put the car in gear and peeled out. "Your reaction times are off. You're a danger to the whole team. You might accidentally promote Ray, for God's sake."

Sam put the food down and looked out the window. "I know. I can't..." He trailed off.

Gene waited. When Sam didn't continue, Gene snorted. "I don't know what your problem is, Tyler, but you're screwing up my team. You'll get your head down or I'll put it down for you."

*************************

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "I didn't think you meant it literally."

Gene merely raised his eyebrows at him. "How did you think I meant it?"

"I thought...maybe we'd have a couple of beers, play some cards. I didn't know you planned a sleepover."

"Best way to make sure you don't go sleepwalking, or whatever the hell it is that's got you looking so knackered lately."

Sam crossed his arms defensively. "Did it ever cross your mind that having you glowering at me from across the room might make it _harder_ for me to sleep, not easier?"

"Never. Calming influence, that's me. Known for it. Now shift it. I'm takin' precious time away from the Missus for this."

Sam shook his head, but stripped off his shirt resignedly. "Good night, Gene."

"Sweet dreams, Gladys." Gene made himself comfortable in the armchair as Sam settled onto the bed.

*********************

It wasn't long before he heard Sam's breathing change, settle into a slower pattern, and he allowed himself to drift off as well. He didn't know how much time had passed before he was awakened by Sam tossing fitfully. No mystery there, the bed was frankly crap and Gene was surprised every time Sam sat on it and it didn't fall apart under him.

He blinked at the TV. "Could've sworn we turned that off," he murmured, and reached out to flick the switch. Sam slowly quietened, and Gene shifted his weight around and got comfortable again.

********************

Gene sat bolt upright at the noise; for a moment he'd thought that Sam's bed had collapsed finally, but no, Sam had just fallen out of it.

Gene squinted. Sam was on the floor, wide-eyed, staring at nothing. "No--no, don't, you _can't_ \--"

"Tyler!"

Sam's head twisted round; his eyes widened even further as he seemed to look right through Gene. "Not him! He's not yours!"

"Wake up, Sam!" Gene's voice was too loud to his own ears. He lowered it with an effort. "You're dreaming, you daft bugger."

Sam blinked at him. "Gene?" He looked at the TV swiftly, and then back at Gene. "What--"

Gene had followed his gaze to the TV and was frowning. "Looks like you got some kind of short in here. I switched this off earlier."

Sam shuddered. "Yeah. It does that." He scrambled up and back onto the bed as Gene reached out and flipped the switch again. "Look, sorry. Go back to sleep, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You want to talk disturbed, Sammy-boy, I'm not the one falling out of me bed." Gene was still regarding the TV narrowly. Having the telly flip on unannounced at all hours couldn't be helping Sam any. He reached around behind it and pulled the plug out of the wall.

**************

The television stayed quiet the rest of the night, but Sam's nightmares didn't stop. By morning Gene was growling and Sam was snapping back, stomping out the door, reminding Gene that he hadn't _asked_ for a babysitter.

Gene grabbed his coat and was heading after him, scathing retort ready, when the television screen lit up.

Gene looked at the floor. The end of the cord was still visible, where he'd unplugged it sometime during the night.

He looked at the screen again. The little girl in the red dress smiled sweetly back at him, caught up forever in her game.

He slammed the door more violently than necessary on his way out.

************************

He caught Annie in the canteen mid-morning. "Nightmares," he said without preamble.

She smiled at him. "Not usually, Guv, thanks for asking."

"What causes them?" Besides televisions that won't turn off, he didn't say.

She passed him a mug of tea, which he took and sipped automatically. "Lots of things. Traumatic experiences. Feelings of guilt. Curry for supper. No way of knowing, really."

"Fat lot of help you are," he grumbled.

"Sometimes...sometimes it's the mind's way of trying to come to terms with something. Something that the person can't deal with in reality, so his subconscious mind has to handle it." Annie wasn't looking at him, was stirring her own tea absent-mindedly. "Is...is this about DI Tyler, sir?"

Gene snagged a biscuit off her plate. "Interesting the way you connect 'Tyler' and 'not dealing with reality', isn't it." He paused in mid-chew. "You may have an idea there, Cartwright. Tyler's never dealt from a full deck, so it don't matter what's on his conscience. Or in his gut, for that matter. There's no point wondering what's the point, 'cause there's not one."

"That's not exactly what I--"

"Stopping it's the main thing," Gene concluded. He stood up and eyed Annie's plate meaningfully. She handed him the last biscuit with a sigh. "Good girl." He crammed it into his mouth and headed back to the office.

 

***************************

Sam didn't even argue when Gene showed up at his door that night, just waved him in. He'd changed and was in pyjamas that made him look like a five-year-old.

Gene handed him the bottle that he'd brought with him. "Nightcap."

"It doesn't work." Nevertheless, Sam got out a couple of glasses and poured them both a generous amount.

"Can't hurt." Gene took the glass Sam handed him, tossed it back, and held it out for a refill. Sam rolled his eyes as he poured.

"What are you trying to accomplish here? You can't make me sleep."

"Wanna bet?" Gene glowered at him, rubbing his knuckles.

Sam didn't back down, of course. He never had the sense. "You can't scare me into a good night's rest."

"Looks like something's scaring you out of one, more like."

And something about that _did_ make him back down, made him look away and rub the back of his neck. "I just...I can't sleep. That's all. There's nothing you can do."

"We'll see."

*********************

After Sam had dozed off, Gene checked to make sure the television was still unplugged. Then he half-closed his eyes and drifted, waiting. When Sam began tossing restlessly he opened his eyes, although he didn't move.

The television came on. By its light he could see Sam getting more agitated, mumbling. He sat up suddenly, staring around wildly, as he had the night before. Gene followed his gaze to the TV. Blinked. Looked again. It was the test card, but it was blank. The little girl was nowhere to be seen.

Sam screamed, and Gene was upright before he knew what was happening, staring at a girl in a red dress who was _there_ , suddenly, by Sam's bed, where no one should have been at all.

She turned at the sudden movement, and Gene saw the clown doll that she held. "Sammy has a friend over. Does his friend want to play with me?"

The voice was soft, quiet. Her eyes weren't those of a child.

"Leave him alone!" Sam said urgently. "He's not yours!"

The raw terror in his voice broke Gene's paralysis. He took a step closer to the girl, glancing back at the blank television screen, swallowing. "Who the hell are you?"

She smiled. "I'm Sammy's friend. I keep him company at night."

"I don't think he likes your company."

"I'm the only one who cares for him, the only one who's there for him. Always and always. I talk to him. I tell him what to do. If he'd only listen to me, he'd be free of this place. Free from everything. Forever."

"Leave me alone," Sam whispered.

Gene jerked his head at Sam. "You heard him. Get out."

She shook her head, smiling slowly. "You can't make me."

He made a grab at her, and she snatched the clown doll away behind her, frowning. "You can't touch us."

He straightened and met her eyes. "Leave him alone or you'll regret it."

Her expression was dark, closed. "You can't stop us."

He blinked, and she was gone as suddenly as she'd appeared. He spun round; the girl in the test card was smiling back at him from the television set, and he stared at it until the screen went blank and a crash announced that Sam had fallen out of bed again.

He peered over the edge of the bed, where Sam was rubbing his head dazedly. "Guv? What...I thought..."

"Might want to fit seatbelts on that thing, Gladys." Gene nodded at the bed, and turned purposefully towards the bottle that Sam had left on the tiny table. "I need a drink."

He poured Sam one as well without asking, and noticed as he passed the glass over that Sam's hand was shaking. Sam gulped it down without protest and handed it back.

"Think you can go best out of three?" Gene nodded at the bed again, and Sam grinned sheepishly.

"Just...a bit startled, that's all." He settled tentatively back onto the bed, drawing the covers up around himself. He yawned suddenly, looking surprised. "I think I could sleep now. Really, I mean."

"'Bout bloody time," Gene grumbled. But he didn't sleep, not when Sam's breathing evened out and stayed uninterrupted, when the television stayed off, when the room stayed quiet. He sat, and smoked, and watched Sam, and wondered exactly how much of a nutter you were when your subconscious fears went walking round outside your head and visiting other people.

************************

In the morning Sam's mood had improved--the sleep had done him good, and he'd evidently forgotten the "nightmare"--but Gene's had hardened considerably. Last night had been like something out of a horror movie, and Gene was not a fan of the genre. Someone always ended up dead in a pool of blood over something stupid, something easily prevented. It was too much like police work.

He preferred westerns, where the bad guys and the good guys were easy to tell apart. The good guys won, and the bad guys were locked up. It was that simple.

He was also taking it as a personal affront that Sam had things in his subconscious which he considered to be scarier than Gene Hunt. In Tyler-speak, that was a situation that needed to be rectified.

He gave it some thought.

************************

Gene dragged Sam down to the pub again that night after work. A few hours and several rounds flew by, and Sam didn't put up much resistance as Gene bundled him into the Cortina. In fact, Sam wasn't saying much at all by this point, which was fine with Gene. He didn't want any interference in what he planned for tonight.

When they got back to Sam's flat, Gene considered just dumping him on the floor--cutting out the middleman, sort of thing--but then decided that he could afford to be generous, and maneuvered Sam into the bed. Then he sat down to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. Sam's breathing hitched in what was almost a whimper, the television flickered, and Gene stood up and took one step into the space that the girl was suddenly trying to occupy. She flickered and was, somehow, elsewhere, to the side, but for a moment she had been _there_ and solid and real, and Gene had moved swiftly.

She cried out as she realized what he was now holding. "You can't have him! Give him to me!"

"Not a chance, sweetheart." Gene glared at her. "I told you if you didn't leave Sam alone, you'd be sorry."

The girl clenched her fists. "What are you going to do with him?"

Gene glanced down at the clown doll in his hand. "Oh, I dunno. I could yank off his head. Tear him limb from limb. Rip out all his stuffing--be like disemboweling him."

"No!" She was closer to him, though he hadn't seen her move. "I didn't hurt Sammy! You can't hurt Bubbles!"

Gene wondered, for a split second. How she defined "hurt". How long Sam had been having these nightmares. How long he'd been haunted by this child who wanted "freedom" for him. Freedom from everything...

"Tell you what." He held up the doll. "You want to haunt something? You go haunt my garden shed, then, because that's where Bubbles is gonna be locked up. And you so much as breathe wrong and I come round with the trimming shears, you got that?"

"You can't do that to us!"

Gene bent down a little, looming over her. "That's where you're wrong, luv. You screwed with _my_ DI. That means it's my responsibility. I take care of my team. Anyone going to be giving Sam Tyler nightmares, it'll damn well be me."

He straightened. "Bubbles is nicked. I'm banging him up for intimidation of a police officer. I'll allow you visitation as long as you never show your snotty little face to any member of my team again. Have we got a deal?"

She folded her arms, sulking, and glared up at him. "Yes. But you're not a very nice man."

Gene tucked the clown under his arm and sat down. "See, sweetheart, your problem is you think that 'good' and 'nice' are the same thing. You're not the first to make that mistake." He pulled out a cigarette. "You'll want to be running along now. Bubbles will meet you in the shed later."

He looked over at Sam deliberately as he lit the cigarette, and when he glanced back she was gone. Sam was frowning in his sleep, but as Gene watched, the lines smoothed out and he relaxed visibly, sinking into the bed.

*********************

Gene woke with cricks in his neck and his back from sleeping in the chair. He'd gone down to the car and locked the clown doll into the boot, but he'd come back up to make sure that Sam was all right for the rest of the night.

Irritatingly, he was. A good night's rest had seemingly given his DI a new outlook on life. He was so cheerful and chirpy that Gene had to squelch a strong urge to punch him.

"'m off home for a kip," he mumbled, in response to Sam's query about their agenda for the day. "Been camped out on your bloody chair for three nights now. I've slept in phone boxes more comfortable. And the Missus'll have forgot what I look like."

"Worse luck for her when you turn up, then." But Sam was smiling. He sobered just a little, and glanced around as if he feared someone might be listening. "Gene, look--thanks. For being here. I've slept a lot better the last couple of nights."

"Trust the Gene Genie," Gene said. It came out gruffer than he meant it to; he'd had to stifle a yawn that threatened to break out. "I've wasted enough time here, Tyler. Gonna have to be a big boy and stay on your own now."

"On my own I'm fine," Sam replied, that sideways wry grin making an appearance unexpectedly. "It's being knocked up in the middle of the night that gets me."

Gene scoffed at him."We'll try to keep the bodies in the canal to a minimum, then, for your convenience."

Sam grinned again. "Go on then, Guv. I'll run down to the station and tell 'em you'll be round in a bit and to follow normal procedure in the meantime. Beating up suspects, intimidating witnesses, knocking down little old ladies--the usual."

Gene ignored another yawn that wanted out. "Don't forget scaring little kiddies and stealing their toys."

Sam was still for a moment. "Yeah? That too, then."

"Whatever it takes to protect the innocent, Sammy-boy." Gene pulled out a cigarette and made for the door, imagining a warm bed where he could stretch out in comfort. After he delivered the prisoner to his new accommodations, of course. "Whatever it takes."


End file.
